Wasteland
by MlleEmmaMlle
Summary: Lily is as twenty-something girl, with a complicated mind. She is just trying to figure out the world, all the while juggling Jas, traveling, everyday stuff and what not. The whole book will run over about 5 years. Although not necessarily in correct order, but like a lot of short stories. But in the end all the stories will tie up the loose ends of Lily's hectic life. (all human)
1. Paris

A/N - Hey reader! Thanks deciding to read my story! I can't say how much I appreciate it. I know it's kind of a raw draft, but I hope you'll still enjoy it! I guess the story will end out as kind of an alternative romance novel / girl trying to find herself yada yada yada. Honestly I haven't quite figured it out. But with a lot of writing and rewriting and thinking and what not I hope to figure it out. But to do this I hope you'll read and review - critique aswell as praise. I only want to become a better writer! and I've learned that critique works as great a way to improve your work. Anyways enough of my yabbering, please read and enjoy!

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Paris – The city of love. L'amour. Everyone loves Paris. Except – I don't see it. I don't feel it. It's not quite what I expected – but then again, what is?

Yet, I can't help but feel warm inside when I see the façades of the picturesque apartments. I do get a fuzzy feeling when I walk along the Seine; with The Eiffel towers silhouette looming above me. Walking with my hand intertwined with my loved one. When I sit in a local café, with a freshly baked croissant and my favorite book, I just can't help that pleasant tingle inside of me. Is it love for the most romantic city? I think not. Tomorrow it'll be Rome or New York. It's just a passing thing. Every feeling is just passing through me. A year I ago, I loved Jas. Not any more. Except I still do - sometimes. Once in a while I look at the streets. All the cars passing by, never stopping for more than a few seconds. The traffic light being their only signal. That's me. That's how I feel inside. Thoughts. Thoughts. Thoughts. A million confusing thoughts.

Red - I feel empty inside. I've been screwed over too many times.

Yellow - It's all coming back. Hey, maybe it's not that bad after all.

Green - I'm happy. I'm sad.

I'm quite sarcastic; hey people even say I'm negative. Let's just say I have quite an attitude problem. Well then Welcome to my life. This is what it is. I try to be happy on the outside, but on the inside I'm just a ticking bomb. No good can come out of that, but what the hell - I'm trying my best. Aren't we all?

Back to the warm fuzzy feelings. I'm not all bad, I have happy times.

Last year I went to Paris with my on/off boyfriend. I love Jas, but we have problems. I have some serious commitment issues and he, well he's just messed up. We had a lovely time, walking around the streets with autumn air blowing in our hair. Shopping bags in hands and in that lovely honeymoon phase. For the fifth time or so - but who counts? Jas and Lily. Lily and Jas. When we worked, we were good together. Really good. But we were also famous for our whirlwind of a relationship. We would fight, we would break up, we would make up, scream some more, declare our true love and go on a crazy trip somewhere in Europe. We've been a lot of places.

The happiest memory I have from that trip was the night at the Sacré-Coeur Cathedral. Basilique du Sacré-Cœur - yeah, the two years of school French I had wasn't an entire waste. Anyways, if you don't know it, then Sacré Coeur is a beautiful church in central Paris. A popular landmark, placed on the highest point of the city. So this one night Jas and I were just walking hand in hand. Just enjoying each other's company. We decided to look inside the church - you kind of have to see the landmarks, right? Honestly, I didn't find it to be anything that grand and after a quick walk around inside, we decided to sit on the stairs in front of it. A street artist was singing and the whole situation seemed quite romantic. Within 20 minutes or so, the whole staircase was more or less filled with all sorts of people. People sang along, people smiled, people talked. As I sat with Jas' hand caressing my lower back, beautiful Paris in my view and No One by Alicia Keys in my ears, I couldn't help but feel whole. All my problems melted away and I just enjoyed the moment. How often is it that you can just put away every bad feeling and just enjoy the simple things in life? Just like when we were children. It's a wonderful feeling. I wish I could feel like that every day - cliché right? But it's true. So true.

_"And no one, no one, no one_

_Can get in the way of what I'm feeling_

_No one, no one, no one_

_Can get in the way of what I feel for you, you, you_

_Can get in the way of what I feel for you"_

The song echoes in my head when I think of that night. There were no fighting, no bitter feelings - everything was just amazing. It really was. I get a smile on my face when I think of those sparkling city lights and that light breeze which had sprung up, dancing the night air around us. I remember the small details, like how I still had my long brown-reddish hair in a long braid, almost down to my waist. I remember wearing that classic Lily Chanel 475 nail polish and my beloved leather jacket, now gone wind the wind - stolen by who knows who. Later that night we went home and just lay in each other's arms.

Simple - Perfect

The next morning, I woke up to a pair of chocolate brown eyes, counting the freckles on my nose. Jas' hoarse voice mumbling a sweet 'morning Lil' and never once removing his eyes from my face. It was peaceful just lying there with Jas, intertwined in the white crumbled linen. Once we finally got up, Jas went to get coffee while I did nothing in particular. I slipped in one of Jas' sweatshirts and went out to the balcony. I leaned over the rail, the cool iron comforting my warm skin, and I just stood there looking at the town folks rushing through the paving stone boulevards. Paris really is a beautiful place in the autumn. The brown and orange leaves flying through the street with the occasional blow of wind. The Alien tongue of French, gracefully filling the air and all the chic women click-clacking with their heels in the distance, mixing with the sound of a street artists crispy voice. But underneath the facade, the Parisian morning buzz wasn't really all that different from any other. Businessmen in suits with briefcases in hand, couples kissing goodbye, young folks running for the bus trying pack their bags at the same time, the chic women with a brisk and serious expression. All of them being busy with their foreign lives in this foreign city. Cigarette buts were lying around in the gutter, coffee cups spilling their contents on the sidewalks, graffiti on buildings and candy wrappers mixing with the leaves. It's all just an illusion and no one cares. We believe the lie and we're satisfied with it. Humans just see what they want to see – what they expect to see. But despite all of these cracks in an otherwise beautiful surface, I've got to admit that there is something special about this city. The city of love - it's got a good ring to it, doesn't it? Paris does have a certain charm and Paris does have the ability to bring out the best in people, if they just let the city embrace them. At least it's worth a try. 'Cause isn't there just something truly fabulous about saying 'yes, I did have a hangover in Paris, and it was worth it. We experienced the night, as you only can in Paris!' We explored, partied and really tasted. It might all seem like a blaze of intense feelings now - but at least I can say that did it. Being controlled in a haze of adrenalin, which is the only fuel of trying to figure out what truly is. What love is. What hope is. What sex is. What life is.

And with all pretenses of our busy every days disappearing along the way, we open ourselves to new experiences and forget the old ones. There are no artificial pharmaceuticals to take away our feelings - just pure feelings. You start to have images, impulses and thoughts about how it all ought to be. You want to feel every single moment – now now now. The sensation of a shiver all they way to your fingertips. What better place to live, than Paris?

I did.

I remember hearing Jas unlocking the door, his endless steps across the wooden floor of the hotel room and then finally his step out on the balcony. I heard him put down two coffee cups on the table and soon after he was wrapping his fingers around my slim figure. 1, 2, 3 kisses on the neck. His hot coffee breath sticking on my skin making me burn with warmth and desire.

We were the perfect couple. Nobody can take that away from us. We were part of the illusion.

So we spent the rest of our vacation in perfect harmony - more or less. We had dreamy looks in our eyes and went out for fancy French dinners. We drank red wine in the evenings and went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We saw a show at Moulin Rouge and walked the halls of Louvre. Hell we even went to Disneyland and got matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse ears. But those days are all blurry now. There really is nothing exceptional over the hundreds frenzied tourist, hurrying to see the exact same attraction, which will still stand tomorrow. With the stuffy air everywhere around the Mona Lisa and the Asian tourists photographing her constant smile, as if she would disappear any minute. As if they would. The continuous blitz was blinding me, even though it wasn't allowed. Madness. They were all zombies in their monotonous way of life. Experiencing the world. Being cultivated.

Maybe if I look upside down the world will turn out right? Frantic people and strange cities and rushed feelings, can't be all there is to life. When I got home from the voyage, I was asked how it was. What was the best part? I was speechless. I was at a loss of words. Inside my head, I could retell every moment to perfection, but as soon as I said it out loud, it sounded like an ad for tourism or simply a description of a normal walk down any street in the world. How could I possibly describe the mesmerizing smell of hundreds of flowers in the local flower boutiques? The mixture of roses, croissants, gas and a million other objects creating a whole new dimension to the already beautiful avenues in all of their glory. It sounds awful when I hear it said out loud, but it was the most astonishing feeling. I was able to permit all of my senses to acknowledge every aspect of life. I felt free and I had fun. I almost felt like a child again. Jas and I even went on a spin on the carousel La Belle Epoque. It was amazing how we sat amongst children, laughing our way trough the ride. The world just flew by in a blur of city illuminations, in the late afternoon light. Even though it didn't go that fast, I permitted myself to through back my head in wild and reckless enjoyment, with my hair blowing everywhere in front of my face. As I squealed, giggled and grinned in tune with Jas, we completed our last night in Paris, in perfect ecstasy in the setting twilight.

And just like that the illusion was over.


	2. Poor little rich girl

I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm the kind of girl who gets what she wants. I'm a real mess, but I'm also really good at covering it up when I want to. I'm a sweet sweet angel. I'll smile and I'll wink, give the boys the attention, they think they want. How do I do it? I have no idea. I'll take one boy out and another one home. I know how to move my body and I know how to dress it. It's a gift, it's a curse. Take as you want - I use it because I can, not because I want to. Double standard? Sure, but hey - didn't I mention I was a mess-up?

As the little angel I was, I didn't say a word. I was a marionette.

'Yes, daddy'

'Oh how lovely'

'I'm so excited'

I was numb. But I was OK. I didn't know any better. I wouldn't say that my childhood was bad, just... nothing special either. There's no point in wishing another childhood, because that won't happen - and it made me who I am today. The good and bad sides.

I remember sitting in front of the mirror - I did that a lot. First I applied concealer, I wouldn't want anyone to see my sleepless nights. Then powder, damn I hated those freckles. Those white powder clouds, blurring the image of me in the mirror. I loved that intense contrast my white skin created with my reddish hair. I felt special and beautiful. I felt different, even though I was just a clone of every other pretty girl in the magazines. Then I applied a fine line of black, to embellish my heavy eyelids. I wanted to look tough, sexy and what not. For the finishing touch; mascara – and lots of it. I wanted those long, thick black eyelashes to surround my deep blue eyes. I was pretty pleased, but I knew better. It was just a temporary pleasure, to be replaced any minute by something new.

Of makeup wasn't the only part of my façade. As an adolescent I was quite skinny, so of course I wanted to be curvier. Bit since skinny was my straw in life, I embraced it. I always did do a little extra to make my trademark stand out. I never had anorexia or anything; I just had a fixation with bustier and spandex's. I did everything to look more slim, black clothes all the way – the only place I wore color, was my underwear and that color was red, more than once. Tight black pants, high as hell heels and a black blazer to finish the look. I looked cool and chic. Hot and sexy. With my dark look I was anonymous, but not anything you would forget in the near future. I was captivating and a sight for sore eyes. It was all fake, but damn did it feel real.

Today I don't wear too much make up. I try to be the responsible adult I know I am. At least on the outside. It's all about your appearance, a cover to protect your true self. Even as an insecure teenager, it's possible to act confident – but it takes toil on you. At least it did on me.

I remember some night in a drunken haze, when some hipster boy asked me if there even was anything real about me anymore. I didn't know what to answer. I had become so used to wearing a mask everyday and in long run I had just kept it on for too long and forgot who I really was. But sometime if you are lucky, someone comes along and shows us whom we really want be, who we should be. Roughly two months after that question Jas came in to my life. Jas was that person for me. I wish the hipster boy would have asked me again, and then I could give him a satisfying answer. I'm still no Mother Teresa, I still wear masks, but don't we all? Now I just know when to take it off.

Mirrors have a tendency to bring out memories in me. You see your old scars, a flicker of who you used to be or even who you wanted to be. You know people always say that mirrors show you your real identity. But damn can those mirrors also lie. Still, that doesn't stop me from having a million of them – I am a girl after all. There's the full-size mirror in my walk-in closet where I choose my attires for the day. The bathroom mirror where I put on my makeup and transform myself from the just-got-out-of-bed girl to the ready-for-work girl. The various hand mirrors around the apartment and even the lesser pieces of broken mirror in my kitchen, creating an artistic dimension to the room. But my favorite mirror is the one in the hallway. It hangs proudly above the rustic antique black gone worn-grey table with all my necessities on it. A bowl with keys and several other weird things in it. A plant called something a never seem to be able to remember and my five most used shoes on the shelf below. Converse, boots, stilettos, ballerinas and wellington boots. The mirror itself is rectangular and hanging as long as the table in a horizontal position, the view only offers a reflection of my torso and face, but it's the last look I get of myself before I go out to the real world. I see what other people, think they see and not the person inside.

The whole world is a stage. I am who need to be.


End file.
